“When I told her my love would stop her tears from falling, she started laughing. She laughed so hard she started crying. Damn. Double damn!”

“I suggested to her that she start writing. "I can't write at all," she said. "Neither can many bestsellers," I replied. "But that pesky detail didn't stop them.”

“I loved her so much, but she vanished from my life. She didn’t just suddenly disappear, but she slowly began losing her opacity until eventually her transparency was 100%.”

“I got offended when she laughed, because she was showing pleasure, but she was also showing displeasure—in all the previous moments where she hadn’t laughed.”

“I told her she should come back to my place because it’d just won sixth place in the Living Room Olympics, and sixth place is like double bronze.”

“I remember I laughed so hard I cried. But my response was half appropriate, because I was at a funeral.”

“The moonlight filtered through the trees like water from a strainer. Agatha’s hair was the color and consistency of wet noodles. I said she might look sexy as a redhead, and she asserted she’d be staying a creamy alfredo. I touched her tight skin they way a drummer might strum a guitar. She called me Mozart, and I didn’t know how to reply so I simply belched. Before I had finished, her open mouth was on mine, and she was huffing my essence like David Hasselhoff hoofing it to the liquor store. I remember what color panties she wore. They were transparent with the texture of flesh. I rubbed her back while she purred. Her skin was as soft as a fur coat. We made love for what seemed like days, but was in fact 3:58.95—a personal best for me. I felt like Roger Bannister, and she felt like a cheetah. Literally. I told her she’d look good on my rug, as a rug, and she playfully pinched the folds on my stomach. She explored my naval cavity with her pinky, and what started out as foreplay turned into a scavenger hunt. While she might have expected to find lint, nobody could have ever suspected she’d find the lost Templar treasure.”